


Belong

by doctor__idiot



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Clothes Sharing, Established Relationship, M/M, Samulet, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017, slight choking kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 12:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11737323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Dean has always looked good with something around his neck.





	Belong

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SPN Kink Bingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.) square "Clothes Sharing".

There’s hardly a time where Sam doesn’t remember seeing that leather cord with the horned pendant around Dean’s neck.

He lied when he gave it to Dean. Bobby hadn’t given it to him, he’d found it in the old man’s house and been reluctantly allowed to keep it. And he’d always intended to give it to his brother, never to John.

He was so young then but he doesn’t think he could ever forget the shine in Dean’s eyes. The sad truth of it only hit him later: Dean’s rarely received a gift in life without being expected to give something in return.

Sam has never wanted anything in return, not from him, not for the amulet and not for anything else. Dean has always done more than anyone could expect of him and it took Sam an embarrassingly long time to realize that.

It’s strange, how much he used to associate a simple necklace with Dean. With _them_. It became a part of Dean, he wore it day and night, and Sam got so so used to seeing it, resting against Dean’s collarbone, chest naked at night or after a shower.

Dean always complained about it scratching the paint of the Impala when he bent over her, cursed out loud during a fight when it hit his teeth, and Sam remembers it being the cause of more than one or two bruises during sparring sessions. Dean never took it off, not for a second.

Until Castiel asked for it, claimed it would burn bright-hot in the presence of God, and Dean was so reluctant to give it to him. Sam nearly spoke up, adding his own opinion of _nope, hell no, uh-uh_ but by then it had already switched owners and Cas had disappeared with it.

He remembers looking at Dean and thinking that something’s off before recognizing the empty space around his neck. They would both catch Dean reaching for it blindly, for comfort or out of habit. He’d freeze when his fingers touched bare skin, half-smirk, awkward _scritch-scritch_ along his jaw to cover it up. Sam would smile back.

It’s ridiculous to think about it like that but it used to serve as an anchor. As long as Dean was wearing it, they were okay, they were together. Dean was _his_.

And then it was gone. No fanfare, just some unimportant fight, always fighting about some stupid shit, and a soft _pling_ against the bottom of a motel room trash can. Sam is pretty sure that the _crack_ of his own heart breaking was something only he could hear.

Better that way.

It’s silly, he knows, to nail the worth of their relationship to some old piece of jewelry, scuffed and marred by twenty years of wear. But for a long time there, it wasn’t the same.

He now knows that it was all for the better. Because as much safety as anchors provide, they’re heavy, and if you don’t pay attention you’ll be dragged under and you’ll drown. The only thing Sam regrets is that he never got to twist his fingers in leather band, never heard the hitch of pleasant surprise in Dean’s breath, never could tug his brother in and hold him there by the cord around his neck.

Dean has always looked good with something around his neck.

Despite everything, or maybe because of it, Sam is glad that Dean now knows he still has the amulet, has kept it in a little box all those years along with other random mementos he has collected over the course of their lives.

Dean didn’t ask for it back and he probably won’t. And for the first time, Sam is okay with that. It’s his now. He won’t wear it but he has it, will keep a hold of it for all eternity and it’s nice. To remember. To be sure of something.

_I don’t need a symbol to remind me of how I feel about my brother_.

Sam knows Dean didn’t mean for him to hear but that doesn’t change anything.

This morning is a slow one, nothing urgent requiring their intention. Sam hasn’t read the paper yet, something might come up after all, but for now he is comfortable in his pajama bottoms, the only piece of clothing he could find after rolling out from his side of the bed. Dean had already left by then, not exactly a morning person but he likes to get a head-start on breakfast. After burning the eggs _that one time_ , Sam isn’t really allowed to touch any of the kitchen appliances anymore except for the coffee maker.

He pads his way down the hallway, his fingers finding his side with the healing row of day-old stitches and he gently presses against the bandage to relieve some of the itchiness. He can hear Dean banging about with pans and cutlery before he even reaches the doorway to the kitchen.

His brother is wearing an old T-shirt that’s a too big on him, showing his shoulders as he scrubs the dishes in the overflowing sink. Sam approaches him from behind, his palms landing on Dean’s hips.

About half a second later, he finds himself shoved back against the shelving unit behind him, plates and pots rattling, with Dean’s forearm across his throat, soapy fingers dripping water down Sam’s bare chest.

“Jesus,” Dean says with a frown, “Don’t fucking do that.”

Sam grins, remarks, “Nice reflexes,” and then he’s released with another glare from his brother. Shame, really, he was rather enjoying having the length of Dean’s body pressed against his.

He makes a grab for Dean’s wrist and pulls him in again, leans down for a kiss. “Good morning.”

Dean grumbles, “Mornin’.” Dries his hands on his T-shirt.

Sam’s eyes get caught on the dark patch appearing in the fabric. The V-neck displays smooth, freckled skin all the way down to Dean’s sternum.

“Are you wearing my T-shirt from yesterday?”

Dean shrugs. “’s the only one I could find.”

Nice try but it’s an outright lie. They slept in Dean’s room, entire dresser full of Dean’s own clothes, but Sam lets it pass. Grins, “Lookin’ good.”

“Shut up.”

Dean reaches for the dishes again. Sam slinks into the space between the sink and Dean’s body, wetness sinking into the back of his pajama pants. He doesn’t care.

Dean’s eyebrow lifts, amused indignation, and he reaches for Sam, maybe to push him away, maybe––

Sam grabs him, arms around his waist, and Dean gasps, falls forward. “Sam,” he warns. Stretches up into the kiss anyway.

It’s morning-hazy between them, movements still slow from sleep, dim kitchen light not exactly helping to dispel the lingering dream fog. Dean opens up for him and Sam kisses him deeply, with intent but without urgency.

“I was thinking,” he says and Dean snorts, no doubt having thought of at least four snide replies to that, “We could just go back to bed. ‘m not hungry yet anyway.”

Dean hums, as if in contemplation. Green eyes bright and sly and he jerks his chin up, licks his lips, daring Sam without words, and Sam’s never been one to say no to Dean. His hand slides around the column of Dean’s throat, the span of his fingers imitating the long-gone necklace, and Dean leans into it, into him.

He twists his grip in the collar of the shirt Dean’s wearing, _his shirt_ , tugging until Dean gives another one of those gasps that Sam licks right off his tongue, swallows it whole. Dean groans, hand flexing against Sam’s biceps.

“Kinky,” Dean says, pants, his breath stuttering, and Sam grins, thinks, _mine._ _All mine._


End file.
